The Depth of a Name
by brooklynantiques
Summary: Steve's at the hospital after Bucky have pulled him out of the water. He doesn't expect the visit, and he certainly doesn't expect what happens next. The depth of a name really is interesting. (Or Bucky Barnes Takes Care of His Own Ghosts)


_Hey! This is actually a two-chapter story but I decided to upload the second chapter because I wasn't really satisfied with the first one and you don't have to read it to understand this one. If you want to read the first chapter you can find me on Archive of Our Own, just search for the story or my username, it's all uploaded there. _  
_Okay so here we go. _

_Steve's at the hospital after Bucky have pulled him out of the water. He doesn't expect the visit, and he certainly doesn't expect what happens next. The depth of a name really is interesting._

* * *

It had been one hour since Sam had left the hospital, but the Troubleman soundtrack was still playing on repeat and Steve enjoyed it just enough to let it go for another round. His body ached, but he was familiar of it somehow, and strangely it didn't really bother him that he'd crushed a few ribs and hurt a few vital organs.  
What mattered was probably miles away at some HYDRA-base and god forbid he'd ever think about what they might be doing there.

Even when he'd had nothing, he'd had Bucky.

'That was one of the worst parts with waking up here, you know?' he'd told Natasha once that they had some time off from planning the helicarrier ambush. 'Bucky was not there like he'd always been. Back there, before the war, I was busy noticing everything that I didn't have instead of noticing what was right in front of me. Him. I was too dumb to realize until it was too late. And I never got to tell him. Now… I don't know…'

She'd asked if they were a couple and he had just smiled his best Captain America-smile in response, shrugged and buried his face in his hands to think for a moment before they had to get back to work.

He'd never been good with those kinds of things.

Steve looked up when he saw a shadow fall from the glass door to his room, and at first he thought that maybe it was Sam who came back for his iPod or had forgotten his keys or came with news about what would happen to S.H.I.E.L.D., but no.  
His eyes met a dark, desperate stare. I almost made his body shiver, and he pressed himself back on the gurney by surprise.

Through the glass, the man looked awful. There had only just been a few days since Steve last saw him but by now a layer of stubble was covering most parts of his chin and his hair hung in dirty stripes all over his face. He wore a grey hoodie and black cargo-pants with matching army-like boots, and he had his left hand carefully placed inside the big pocket over his stomach to not expose its true color and shape. The hood was covering most of his face, but from what was visible, he did not look so good.  
At all.

Steve swallowed.  
Maybe it was just a dream. He had been dreaming a lot about things like this the past days, hours, he couldn't really remember, but the silent sound of the door opening and two boot-covered feet that walked in seemed quite real in the heat of the moment.

"Buck—" He started but realized halfway that maybe calling his name wasn't the best move due to their situation.

The man didn't react; instead he closed the door behind him and walked up to the bed, eyeing Steve with something new in his eyes, something that might could be called anxiety or maybe even regret, but it wasn't quite clear exactly what it was. His gaze was still distant. His face dirty and his lips dry as he slowly parted them.

He was going to say something but his own voice stopped him. Steve was just lying in his hospital bed unaware of what to do. When his common sense and realization about the situation kicked in, he took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could; "You saved my life."

"I—" the Winter Soldier creaked after a few seconds of silence, his voice low and hoarse and a bit insecure, "I know who you are. I know you."

Steve nodded and the man continued, a little bit less distant.

"I know you, from before… But I don't know before. I remember… A train… And a man, a short man…"

It was impossible to breathe, to move, to do barely anything. This meant that he remembered, that there was still some kind of sick hope he could cling on to, the same kind of hope that'd been with him since he'd first seen that face without the mask.

"I hated him and I didn't know what was going on around me. You were there, I remember you, I knew you, but you didn't… You didn't always look like this…?"

The man kept on talking like he was mostly talking to himself but Steve listened to every word.

"No" he finally said when he realized that Bucky had stopped for confirmation, "no I didn't, Bucky"

The body by his side frowned and the metal hand revealed itself from the pocket and grabbed one of the metal poles on side of the gurney-bed, which made it shake slightly.

It had affected him.

"Say that again."

"What?"

The man wheezed, "that name."

"Bucky?" Steve tried and bit his lip as he tried to sit up, balancing the weight on his elbows. If he got attacked now he would at least be able to hold against it, and judging by the Winter Soldier's tenseness it could happen any second. He just didn't want to believe it.

The man raised his hands to his head and instead of attacking, he started backing off, almost whining because of something that seemed to pain him, a lot, something inside his head or in his mind that wasn't physical. He almost stumbled over the chair Sam had been sitting in before leaving, the same day (although it felt like ages ago by now).  
Steve wanted to call for help, but he regretted that idea as soon as he'd thought about it because what would HYDRA do if they found him like this?

Suddenly, the dark blue intense eyes were there again, still pained, so near his face he almost snapped and punched by reflex but he resisted in the very last minute, almost cursing out loudly.

"There's a Norwegian Motel in the west end" the hoarse voice murmured, "30 days, room 13. This is not going to work if you don't do exactly as I fucking tell you, Steve."

He was gone almost as quickly as he'd appeared. Steve stared into the empty space he'd left behind, nothing but the slight change of position for the chair and the door still a little open from where he'd rushed out.

His heart was racing in a speed he'd never experienced before and he had to take deep breaths to calm himself down, putting facts between facts to see what the hell just happened.

30 days. Room 13.

He'd called him Steve.

Had he actually heard it right, or was he hallucinating?

He'd actually called him Steve, and that meant something, something pretty big. Something really big. Was he coming back?

Room 13.

He'd be there.

30 days.

Just wait.

It was really cold outside and Steve was wearing nothing but a tank-top under his uniform. Sure, it might be windproof and water resistant but he couldn't shake off the shivers or the frozen fingertips. If it really came from the weather he didn't know.

He was standing alone outside the two-floor motel. The building had probably been painted red once, but now it was hard to tell from years with bad repair and no reconstruction, and most of the paint had been torn down to dirty shreds. Steve noticed that the wooden stairs was the same when he walked up to it, although someone had bothered to put up a pair of new Norwegian flags on each rail, and when he'd carefully made it up to the front door he stopped to glance over his shoulder one last time.

Sam was on the backside, just a phone call away if something happened. Clint was on the roof of the building on the other side of the road. Agent 13 – Sharon – was in her car just down the street.  
If he needed help it would be there.

He took a deep breath and pushed down the handle.

´The light was dim and yellow inside the lobby. A guy in a red-knitted sweater was sitting behind a desk, reading a book, and he didn't even look up when Steve stumbled over the mustard colored wall-to-wall carpet.

"Excuse me?"

The man shushed, paused, and then looked up. He was blonde and had an even stubble, slightly darker than the rest of his hair, and there was something about his face that made him look sharp and determined when he eyed Steve closely.

His voice was dark and raspy when he opened his mouth to speak. "He told me you'd come. Wait…"

A hand slipped down under the desk and pulled up a key, gray and rusty with an attached piece of leather to it.

"Take it. You already know the room, huh? I haven't seen him in weeks. I don't know if he'll be there, but go check it out."

Steve walked up to him and took the key in his hand, eyed it and nodded. "Thanks"

He was up the stairs and followed the room numbers when his com sparked and he could hear Sam's voice from the other end.

"Found him?"

There, in the end of the corridor he could read the numbers.

"Soon, I'm outside his room. Stay where you are."

"What do I tell Clint?"

"To keep his eyes open. But neither of you do anything until I tell you to, alright?"

"Roger that"

He moved, fully focused on the white door a few feet away. A gun was strapped to his left thigh but he hoped that he wouldn't have to use it, and he'd left his shield with Sam even though he clearly had things to say about that.

Maybe it was stupid believing in Bucky after all that he'd done, but their last conversation had meant something more and it was everything Steve wanted to believe in, so he'd decided to give it all. Maybe it'd go alright. Maybe it'd go to hell.

But there was no S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore. Who was there to stop him?

He grabbed the key in his pocket and took the last step to reach his goal. As silently as he could, he moved his head closer to see if he could hear anything from inside.

It was quiet. For one second he thought that he could catch the sound of someone's rough breathing, and he was quick with the key in the lock, turning it until he heard the familiar click.  
The door swung open, the handle under his hand.

The small room was in total chaos. In what must've been hundreds, Steve could discern a TV on the floor, a bedside table in pieces, white thin curtains ripped up, the bathroom door open with a big hole in it like someone had punched straight through the wood.

He then laid his eyes on the bed, or, what was left of the bed, and stopped breathing for a second. The upper frame was made in iron and chained to the wall, the other parts were spread on the floor with the sheets and the blankets and a whole mess of smaller things like clothes and bottles. There was a man strapped to the frame on the wall. He was stuck by belts, chains and even a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, and for a start Steve didn't even recognize him under the curtain of hair covering his face.

His mouth fell open but he couldn't get out a sound.

Bucky's beard was longer, his hair dirtier and his pale upper body exposed. He was half sitting on the floor but what held him up was the leather around his waist and arms, which both had left dark, blue and greasy marks over the skin. The chains around his wrists were sharp enough to cut, and that was exactly what had happened – a trail of clotted and dried blood ran down along his arm, and the wounds by the right wrist looked so deep it could even be fatal. Obviously, it hadn't affected the metal prosthetic, but from the one cut up wrist, the blood had run down over his chest and even to the waistband of his pants where it was close to black in shade, and that was not a small amount.  
He was only wearing a pair of black sweatpants and they were dirty all over, but otherwise his legs and feet looked alright. Compared to the rest of his body.

The smell came like an aftershock. Metal, blood, urine, dust. Something molded. Something rancid. Body fluids. A smell that only could've appeared in a closed room after a very, very long time.

When he slowly started to come back to reality his body moved uncontrollably fast. His com was sparking again but he ignored it and fell on his knees beside the fragile body, fingered on his belt for the army knife that always was close to hand.

Carefully, like he was holding glass, he started to cut the leather. Bucky still had pulse, but it was weak and slow, and Steve was so scared it was strange that his fingers didn't shiver more. The slightest movement might cause him pain.

When he'd worked up three of the straps, including the one connecting the forearms there was nothing left but the chains and the handcuffs. The army-knife was strong enough to take care of the cuffs, but he needed something bigger for the thick chains, maybe a bolt cutter.

One finger at the com, he whispered "Sam, you there?"

"Jesus Steve!" the answer came immediately, "I was just about to break in, why the hell didn't you answer?"

"I need medics, and a bolt cutter. That's an order." The Captain-America-is-commanding-you-voice didn't fail him even though he whispered, and although he was scared as hell.

"Man…" Sam seemed troubled, but he could hear that he was moving. "Whatever's going on there can't be good. I'm sending Clint with the tools."

Their conversation was over and he leaned over Bucky's body again. He didn't dare to touch his wrist, for the blood was still red and fresh and if he moved it too much the small coagulation that had started might would break and he'd bleed to death, which was something that Steve gladly prevented.  
Instead, he moved his fingers towards the pale face and scuffed a few brown locks aside.

His bottom lip was split and blood was dried down over the chin, alongside with a line of puke and dried mucus. He didn't have anything life-threatening in somewhere around his face though. Blue bruises covered one eyelid but they'd already started to fade out which made Steve wonder how long he'd been there, forced up on the wall with the bed frame.  
The bruises over his torso and belly from the chains and leather straps could possibly tell. If he wanted to know, which he wasn't sure if he did.

Suddenly, he spotted a movement from the man's face. Just a light flinch at first, his eyelashes, and then a few blinks in a row.  
Steve thought he'd lost the ability to breathe, he didn't move a muscle until Bucky's eyes were wide open. They looked at him, slowly.

Then he smiled.

He smiled.

His thin lips curled up in a so ironic grimace Steve didn't really know what to do except for stare. The whole situation was so unbelievably horrible he couldn't get out a sound.

"S-s…"  
Bucky's voice was low and raspy like sandpaper and he immediately started to cough, grimacing once again, but this time it wasn't because of a smile. "S-Steve?"

"Don't speak" Steve answered automatically, surprised that he actually sounded like himself.

The man ignored him and licked his lips. They were probably dehydrated since days back. How could they move? "I knew you'd come"

"What happened to you, Buck?"

The dark eyes stared at him stubbornly and it felt like someone had stuck a knife in Steve's stomach, 'because he remembered that gaze way too well.

Could it be…?

"He's gone now"

Even though Bucky's words were silent and hoarse, they still sent shivers down the blonde's spine and made him put a hand on his friend's thigh.  
It had been dangerous to touch before, yet he couldn't stop himself now.

"What do you mean, who's gone? The one who did this to you?"

The chained man tried to laugh but nothing except for a wheeze came out from his mouth, "I guess… Yea…"

A loud knock on the window made them both look up and Steve could glimpse Clint's sharp eyes through the glass. He stood up and walked to let him in, without really letting Bucky out of sight.

"Shit" Clint sighed when he landed on his feet in the middle of all the mess. "What the hell is going on?"

Steve didn't answer, he just grabbed the backpack he was holding and made it back to Bucky whose gaze had turned distant and tense.

"You with me, pal?"

"He's gone, Steve… He resisted and tried to escape, but I chained him here… He's out of my system, mostly, and I won't let him come back…"

It took a blind second for Steve to realize that it wasn't some man, some high ranked HYDRA-commander that Bucky was talking about.  
It was himself.

"Shit" Clint repeated from behind.

The words echoed inside his head, and they made more sense the more he heard them; frankly it all seemed to make sense now.

It was crazy. Completely unbelievable.

"Did you strap yourself here? To make him go away, did you do all this?"

He should be angry. He should be furious, and sad, and shocked but no real feeling seemed to make it to the surface and Steve opened the bag in an attempt to sort the thoughts out, focused on the small cutter on the bottom and grabbed it with his free hand.

Bucky didn't answer. Although, that pretty much was an answer itself. In the background he could hear Clint talk quietly to the com, mentioning chains and blood and medics and S.H.I.E.L.D., and he raised the cutter to the chain by the arms, careful to not harm the pale skin.

"You ready?"

Bucky's respond was a nod, and Steve clenched the cutter as hard as he could to make the iron give in with a clink. The chain fell to the floor together with freed arms and Bucky gasped by the sudden movement. His hands fell, uncontrollable, and landed by his sides harshly.  
It'd probably take a while for the blood to return and for him to regain control over the muscles again.

Steve moved on to the last two chains by his waist and cut them off as quickly as he could, the heavy body finally relaxed as it glide down from the position it'd been sitting in for way too long, and both of them took deep breaths of release (Bucky's a little deeper).

Clint was still on his guard. "Cap, do you really think—"

"He's not HYDRA anymore"

"That's what he's saying"

"Honestly, do you really think he'd be able to attack anyone right now?"

The avenger shrugged but didn't let down his guard, one hand on the bow just in case, and Steve reached out to get a grip around Bucky's body before lifting him up, carefully. The man whined, but bit his lip and succeeded to stay relatively quiet even though his heart was beating undeniably quickly against Steve's arms.

Ironically, he thought everything was too good to be true. He wanted to believe that The Winter Soldier was gone, but he didn't have the courage to do so just yet, he just hoped that it was true and that this all had been worth it in the end. Even though Bucky's wrist almost was sliced up and his body was stained with bruises, there could still be something good around it.  
He just hoped.

Halfway out through the door they met three medics. They were carrying a gurney, and behind them came the owner who pointed the way. He looked shocked, and the sight of a bloody, messy, broken man in the arms of Captain America wasn't exactly making it all better.

The medics let him put Bucky, who had passed out again, on their gurney and then they took over as they carried him down the stairs with the others right behind. Steve threw a thankful glance towards the reception man before they all disappeared, down and out on the streets where both Sam and an ambulance stood waiting. Sam's eyes widened when he saw the whole mess, he whistled quietly.

"Man, what happened? Did he get attacked?"

Steve didn't have the energy to explain. He sighed and ran a hand through his blonde thatch. "Yeah, in a way"

Everything he wanted was to be by Bucky's side when he woke up again, to be there for him every living second from now on, when he was free from command and hopefully free from himself too. It'd take a lot, but it was possible.

"Captain Rogers?" a white-dressed man asked, and Steve took a step closer, nodded. "You want to come with?"

The answer wasn't even an option.  
He was inside the ambulance before all the others and clicked on his com to have contact with Sam during their way to the hospital.

He had a lot to explain.

Steve stayed day and night, crashed on a hospital bed in the same room and bought food from the cafeteria downstairs. There was almost not a moment when he wasn't by Bucky's side, no matter if he was awake or sleeping. When the nurses almost forced him home to get some real proper sleep he still came back just a few hours later.

When he was awake they talked. At first it was about what Bucky could remember – parts from the war, fragments from sunny days in Brooklyn, the day he'd been recruited and Steve hadn't, the day they'd went to that old movie about a girl from Kansas who came to a magic land.  
They were just memories, maybe with no meaning, but talking about them brought up feelings Steve didn't know he'd kept hidden.

Maybe he hadn't had Bucky when he woke up; maybe he'd been all alone. But the least he could do was to be there for Bucky now when he was back, alive, and when he needed him the most.

So they kept on talking. Memories turned to discussions and sometimes bets, and one day Steve brought his old deck of cards and they played poker until Steve's wallet was empty and he'd promised away half of his old jazz-collection.  
They watched movies, mostly ones that they both had missed, and read books (they just seemed to get better and better), and they could talk more and more about things that earlier had seemed impossible.

Bucky never talked about his old targets, but he sometimes talked about missions and doctors and other people he'd worked with at HYDRA. He once mentioned a target that had slipped away, a casino owner in the 70's that had reminded him of someone else. Now it was obvious to him why he'd let him go.

Steve told him about Peggy, about Sam, about The Avengers and that one time when New York became a meeting point for chaos thanks to Thor's stepbrother and Bucky seemed to chuckle more about the story than believe in it but it didn't really matter because Steve just wanted to see him smile for once.

That slowly came back too. The smiling. And it warmed Steve's heart like nothing had done before, at least like nothing he could remember.

In two weeks Bucky had made it out from the hospital. His body was still sore and fragile after two operations and loads of lying still, but he looked much better than Steve could remember him doing.

"So where am I going now?"

He was standing in the door opening, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt that both belonged to Steve, trainers and an open black sports-jacket. Everything too big, but it worked for the moment.

"Isn't that obvious?" the blonde man smiled warmly in response and threw him a pair of keys. Apartment keys. "You're going home with me"

It happened more than once that Steve woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Bucky screaming, and he was always up on his feet right in time to calm him down and remind him of where he was, what year it was, and that he hadn't done anything wrong.

Bucky's body was always shaking heavily and his eyes were wide open, and It usually took hours for them to go back to sleep. They ended up in the couch watching a movie or reading books instead, more and more often.

One night was especially bad. Bucky screamed names and words in Russian, mixed up with commandos and orders. Steve was there to drag him out of the bed and shake his shoulders until he stopped hyperventilate. He looked awful, more horrible than ever, and Steve tried to not stare at the sweat drops that trailed down his forehead as he breathed in and breathed out to get rid of the panic.

To his big surprise, the man moved closer and wrapped his arms – one flesh and one metal – around his waist.

They hadn't touched like that in ages, yet it only felt natural for him to do the same. Steve breathed out and stroke his hands down Bucky's back, whispered calming things in his ear as the shivers slowly started to fade out.

"'ts alright. You're fine, Buck, I'm here…" and "you didn't do that, y'know. He's gone now. You're safe with me"

They stood still for a while, hugging out whatever tension and doubt they'd ever felt about each other, forgiving but not forgetting. There had been enough forgetting.

"Uhm" Bucky finally let out, "Can you stay here with me for tonight?"  
He saw Steve's hesitation and continued quickly, "It'll be like the before the war when he shared bed to keep you warm, you know I remember that. You were so tiny. I felt like I was going to crush you."

He was still hesitating, but the words had affected him.

"Come on. Just for tonight."

And that was all it took for him to give in.

They crawled in under the sheets and Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's waist again as soon as he'd reached out to turn off the lights.  
It was dark and warm and comforting and everything Steve ever wanted life to be. A lot easier than his previous months. He found a safety in laying this close, and it scared him to his bones, but he liked intensely and wouldn't let go for anything.

He wasn't sure if Bucky'd fallen asleep that quickly, but his breaths seemed deep enough so he dared to bury his face in his hair to feel the familiar scent of shampoo and cotton and safety. It was funny how he still could smell almost the same, 70 years later.

"I never got to tell you, y'know?"

The quiet words sounded soft from under the blanket, and Steve moved his head back quickly, his heart hammering inside his chest.

"What do you mean?" he answered, hoarsely.

Bucky had paused and it didn't seem like he was going to answer the question. Instead he looked up from Steve's chest and moved a few inches upwards so they were lying face to face on each pillow; dark blue eyes met light blue eyes, a tension hanging between them. It was something he could not name and it actually scared him a bit, because it gave him the impression that they were experiencing an all or nothing moment.

There was a high chance of that everything that happened between them was just Bucky being scared and not sure of how to handle it. Steve shouldn't have done as his body told him to, because it might had be his death wish, but was it worth to fail his best friend for it?  
They'd probably wake up the day after and Bucky would never be able to look him in his eyes again.

Yet their lips were so close. And the light in his friend's eyes seemed so real, for the first time in what actually had been forever.  
He couldn't say no to that, not a chance.

The brunet moved closer, and in a second their lips brushed together.

The kiss was warm and safe, just like he'd always imagined it to be, like it was an impersonation of the real Bucky through human contact and warmth and small breaths. Steve loved it so much he forgot about losing, forgot about the day after, forgot about chains around a bloody wrist and everything that didn't include a warm mouth and the pressure of lips against his own.  
They moved closer and he could feel the touch of cold metal against his ribs, but he didn't push away, just pulled the body closer to his so he could touch the thin fabric of his friend's tank top. Bucky groaned and held Steve closer; let a hand trail down his back and finger on the waistband.

They kissed deeper, let tongues roll and teeth bite, Steve almost stopped breathing when he felt the tip of a warm tongue slide between their lips and all he could think was why hadn't they done this earlier?

Bucky was more than eager to touch. Since Steve was bare chested, his torso and stomach was constantly under the pressure of a metallic hand that stroke and caressed, he loved every second of it and almost let himself get swept away, touched Bucky back and started sliding his hands under his tank top.

They grinded against each other, hungry for more.

Yet there was something in the back of Steve's head that told him to restrain himself, to pull back.

Bucky didn't want this.

He wanted safety and someone by his side, this was just a moment of unclarity or an impulsive idea of comfort that wouldn't last at all. Steve didn't want his friend to not be able to look at him anymore; just when he'd gotten him back, no, that thought made him terrified.

So he put his hands on top of Bucky's, and slowed their motions down until they were back with just kissing. The man let out a disappointed sigh but seemed to accept it.

They kissed one last time, slowly, then Steve moved to put his lips on Bucky's forehead instead. The arms around his waist didn't seem to let go, they squeezed harder instead and he smiled sadly as he squeezed back, a warmth spreading from his heart and out in the rest of his body. They lay still, held each other tightly.

Just this night, he thought, and then tomorrow everything will be as usual.

"'night Steve" Bucky whispered from under the blanket.

He sighed.

"Goodnight, Buck"

Steve woke up in an empty bed, completely unaware of where he was. It took him three seconds to realize that yes, it was his apartment, but no, he wasn't sleeping in his own bed – but in Bucky's borrowed one.

Memories of warm hands and Bucky's taste on his lips played on repeat in his memory and he buried his face in his hands, felt the urge to scream out loud to get rid of the agony – but of course, he didn't.

Bucky wasn't beside him and his clothes were not on the floor. Maybe he'd gone out for a walk, maybe he'd gone to the gym, maybe he was with his therapist but it was pretty clear that he was avoiding Steve and everything that had to do with the night before.

The man sat up on the bedside and ran fingers through his hair.  
Maybe this was the best.  
Maybe they could slowly go back to being friends.

Just when he was about to stand up and leave the room, the door swung open and the all too familiar silhouette appeared in the opening.  
Bucky's hair was fixed to a short ponytail-bun-thing, which was something totally new, and he wore the same tank top as he'd slept in. His legs were covered by a simple pair of sweatpants, his feet bare on the wooden floor. In his hands he held two large IKEA cups.

"Uhm" he started, voice hoarse and a bit insecure, "I made coffee. You want some?"

Steve felt like two heavy stones had fallen of his shoulders and the relief immediately. Strongly. He just nodded and stared at his friend's face, which relaxed a bit by his answer.

Bucky moved towards the bed and handed Steve one of the cups as he gracefully sat down with his legs crossed, gripped his own one firmly to not spill on the sheets. "So" he continued as he lipped the cup, "do you wanna talk about it?"

Steve almost coughed up the black liquid he was just about to swallow. "'bout what?"

The brunet eyed him with a puzzled gaze.

"Look, if you want to we can forget about it or just pretend that it didn't happen. I'll be alright"

He hesitated.

"You're thinking about yesterday."

Bucky looked down in his coffee cup before putting it away and Steve almost thought he saw the flinch of a pained smile on his lips.

"Do you wanna forget?"

The hell he didn't. He never wanted to forget Bucky, he never could and he never would.

He was so tired of it all. Neither of them were okay, especially not Bucky, but they just kept on lying saying that they were, and maybe it was time to actually tell the truth for once. Steve just wanted to get rid of the secrets, once and for all, just explain whatever was hiding behind the surface and get over with it, even if it meant admitting what he felt.  
Bucky deserved to know the truth.

"I-" he started but stopped halfway.  
To hell with it.

"I stopped us yesterday because I didn't want you to do anything you would regret afterwards. If I hadn't stopped myself at that point then I probably never would've been able to say no to you, Bucky."

The man looked up and eyed him slowly.

"You know – it's always been you. Even when I had nothing, even when I woke up here alone. And just the chance to stay by your side right now is enough for me, I promise, but I need to tell you this because you deserve to know the truth. I can't say no to you, Buck, I can never…"

"Why?"

Bucky was close, his eyes dark and his gaze slow, like he still interpret Steve's words one by one. He raised one hand, the human one, and it was just an inch away from touching his arm.

Steve swallowed and focused on the pink, thin lips in front of him. Thought about how it'd been to kiss them.

"Because, god, don't you understand? I don't care if you're the same man as before, I don't care at all. I just want you. I want you, Bucky"

His heart was beating like crazy, but before he had the time to try and calm himself down, Bucky made a move he hadn't expected and pushed them both down on the bed. The coffee splashed, but the brunet saved the cup from spilling and put it on the bedside table with his eyes fixed on Steve all the time.

"Okay" he then whispered, and his breath smelled like toothpaste and something sweet and coffee and warmth and Steve tried to tell himself that those words could mean anything, but it was close to impossible due to their positions.  
God, he was so close.

"What does that mean?" he asked, quietly.

Bucky's answer was to finally lean down and let their lips press together, too alike to the night before, but yet so very different. This time they shared warmth and breaths like they were starving, and maybe they were, maybe they had been starving for each other for way too long.  
This was Bucky's response.

It was like a switch had been pulled inside him and Steve lost control again as his blood rushed through his veins, and he kissed back like he'd never kissed anyone before and like he never wanted to kiss anyone but Bucky. The man sucked his under lip, moved slightly on top of his body.

Their lips were warm and swollen. Eager. Both teeth and tongues teased and craved more, because it felt like they'd always been there, in that state.

Steve felt Bucky's fingers trail down his sides and stroke over his hips, what he could reach of the ass, gripped and touched and he breathed harder into the man's mouth, let his own hands caress along his back. He felt the spine, his middle and the dimples above his ass, and the outcome was a slow thrust of hips against his own.  
Their erections were pressed against each other and it really did feel as good as he'd remembered it from their last night.

"You sure you want this?" he murmured when he'd moved his lips to kiss the corner of Bucky's mouth.

The brunet let out a pleased sigh, let a hand slide down under the thin fabric of Steve's boxers. "Yea, yeah— more than anything"

The touch of a big warm hand against his dick was amazing, so different from when he'd touched himself, in a good way of course. It started moving, and everything got even better. The other hand pulled down his underwear.

Bucky stroke him quickly and confidently, perfectly, not too harsh and not too slow, and Steve wanted them to share the pleasure so he got a grip on the waistband and pulled the man's sweatpants and boxers down, felt his length against his own and had to contain himself to not let it go already. The quiet moan in his ear didn't make it all better.

Lips closed around his earlobe, nibbled and bit. Steve grabbed them both in his big hand and took over the stroking, not changing speed or position; just lighted Bucky's work a little. The man lost the grip of his ear because of how his lips formed a moan, louder this time. His warm tongue licked up Steve's helix, nibbled, and it all gave him the shivers.  
It felt so good. Crazily good.

His dick twitched, pre-cum dripped out from the tip.

"Y'like that, huh?" Bucky whispered, and he just nodded as answer.

Steve moved his free hand to caress down Bucky's back, and he stroke down his cheeks, let his fingers draw circles and swirl further down. He wasn't really good at doing things at the same time, so the other man took over the stroking again and moaned into the mattress beside Steve's head when he reached his entrance and pushed one finger inside.

"Steve— God, yes—"

"You've got to stop touching me" Steve panted back, "or I'm gonna come right now"

Bucky didn't stop, but he slowed down and that was almost enough. He let one more finger slip in as reward and that released another muffled moan into the sheets.

"Ngh—"

With his free hand, Steve reached out to the bedside table and pulled out the first drawer. He fumbled for a while before he got out a bottle with lotion and put it in Bucky's hand. He looked up and the brunet nodded, opened it and pressed out some in his palm. He let it drip down over their dicks, and it felt cold but god—so good, and Steve rolled his hips in the need of friction.

"Scuff up" he murmured and Bucky did as he was told. He moved until he stood on his knees, straddled the blonde and crashed their foreheads together.

"I want to feel you" he whispered, "now Steve, please."

Steve kissed him. Gently but with an undertone of determination, because he understood exactly what he meant. He needed to feel Bucky too. On top of him and inside him and in as many ways as possible because it felt like he was going to explode if he couldn't come closer.

He guided his tip to the entrance and let it slide in a little bit, tried to tell if it was okay and waited for response. He felt the man thrusting down from above him, and he took that as a yes, kept on moving. When he almost was all the way in, Bucky whined and cried out in his mouth and he stopped, terrified.

"No, keep on going"

The dark eyes stared at him so intensely he didn't have the power to do anything against him. He took one last breath before pushing his whole length inside and Bucky groaned loudly, maybe too loud, but connected their lips again and kissed with a force that simply couldn't mean anything bad.

Steve felt like he was going to burst any second. He tried to think of something that didn't involve naked skin and pleasure and moans and whispers, but honestly? It was really, really hard.

"Can I move?"

"Yes" Bucky almost wheezed and Steve obeyed, rocked his hips upwards.

They breathed in deeply at the same time and held each other tighter, moved slowly at first but found a rhythm together after just a few thrusts.  
Bucky sounded a lot, panted and moaned out in the small bedroom, and Steve stopped caring about his own voice the more they moved and the closer he got.

He breathed in, moaned in ecstasy and felt Bucky's body shiver by delight.

"Ahh— right there, right— fuck… 't feels so good, Steve"

He ran his fingers through the brown strands of hair that had fallen out of the now messy ponytail; bit his lip in a pointless try to contain himself.

With his left he grabbed Bucky's throbbing erection, gave it a few strokes and almost melted under the perfect sound of a road of moans.

"I'm gonna— soon" the man whispered and Steve nodded, he was right on the edge too, just a few thrusts away and he'd come. Their movements became quicker, stronger, right in the middle of despair.

Bucky was first. His muscles flexed and he lowered his face to Steve's shoulder, buried his teeth in it to sound as less as possible. His dick twitched and throbbed, and his cum flushed over the man beneath, made his stomach messy.

Steve almost sounded pained when he mumbled, "I'm also… I can't come inside you—" and Bucky moved away as quickly as he could, slid down between the man's legs and pressed his lips to the erected dick. He'd only just closed his mouth around it when Steve came, let everything go and forgot how to breathe for a few seconds when everything was completely perfect.

Bucky fell on top of him, head on the chest and they laid still for what must had been minutes, breathed and held each other as closely as possible.  
They were messy and sweaty and tired, but for the moment nothing of that seemed relevant.

Even when they'd regained their breaths, they laid on the blankets completely still and just listened to the silence.

Steve was the first one to break it.

"So, uhm… We talked" he murmured, and could almost feet Bucky's lips curl up in a smile against his collarbone.

"Yes we did."

"Was it okay?"

The brunet looked up and his eyes were completely calm. Dark, blue-gray, dizzy and dim – but absolutely calm, for the first time in a long, long time.

"It was alright..."

The blonde raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Alright"

They didn't move for another four minutes until the stickiness between them became a little too much and the room seemed to have gotten ten times colder. Steve put on a simple white t-shirt that was actually meant for Bucky but he'd just dumped it in a corner earlier, and they crawled down under the covers although the time was past 11 AM, and by now they should have started to make lunch.

Steve's eyelids were heavy, and he stroke his palm down the back of the warm body that was curled up against him.

" I never thanked you" Bucky's voice came from below.

"For what?"

It took a few seconds, then he continued. "We're not okay Steve, not at all. But, together we are as close to Okay as we can get. And I never got to thank you for all you did before I fell; I never got to tell you that I love you – now I can. What if the bad things are over now…? And maybe we've had our hell, and this is what comes afterwards."

He didn't know what to answer. Any answer to that commitment would only feel lame and forced; so he just held the body as close as he could and placed a kiss on the top of Bucky's head.

"I never got to tell you either" he whispered.

Bucky's arms relaxed over his torso and he did the same. They didn't struggle to keep awake, but fell asleep in each other's arms just like they'd done a few times before.  
Just not like this.  
Not this century. Not this metal limb. Not these memories.

Maybe this time, things were as close to Okay as they could get.

* * *

_Please leave a comment of what you thought! Lots of love._


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